It's Just Coffee
by Wickedly Caskett
Summary: Beckett's realization that coffee might not just be coffee for her and Castle over the course of time. Caskett fluff.


This is an old one I've always meant to post up here but hadn't gotten around to.

Initially posted on my tumblr as a response to an image a year or so ago. Possibly might continue this with some more coffee moments perhaps? Let me know what you think.

Enjoy!

* * *

It's her first full day as a homicide detective today. She made it. She made detective. It was still so unreal, you know? Okay, so maybe it had been her intention all along to get into homicide and get detective so she could have the resources to solve the case. But it's still shocking. As the precinct had been buzzing with, she's extremely young for it. Apparently she's the youngest woman to make detective. Beat some IA girl by a few weeks. Not like she cares about that. Right now, she's too busy buzzing with energy.

That whole buzz isn't helped by the fact that she's pretty sure this must be her fourth cup of coffee this morning. And it's been about two hours since she woke up. Oops? But really. First day. Exciting. Not enough sleep. Never enough sleep. Self-inflicted sleep deprivation. Too busy being awake and thinking about everything. Therefore, coffee. And she may or may not have been too excited to think this morning, so the one she had in hand right now was black. Not like she notices much- plenty on her mind without paying attention to how unfortunately bitter the coffee is. Coffee is coffee is coffee, nothing that special about it. The caffeine was all that really mattered, right?

Had she even eaten this morning?

Don't think so. Oh well. Too late to do anything now. She'll totally make it through the day on coffee alone. She sure had at Stuy. Coffee might as well have been every Stuy kid's blood that's how much they'd all drunk to stay functional.

Downing the last of the cup she has in hand with a grimace, she quickly chucks it into the nearby trash can before walking through the doors.

Here goes nothing.

—

She pulls up to the unassuming brownstone, suppressing a yawn as she brings her Crown Vic to a stop. She hadn't had the time to get her usual caffeine dosage this morning due to the ridiculously long line at the place. She'd been rather preoccupied by a certain book by a certain annoying author's cover art, to the point of leaving home later than usual. Knowing the team and the precinct? Oh god, she was never going to live that down. And what would her dad think?

With a sigh, she double-checks her gun and her badge before getting out of the car. Time for another day of endless rambling by the one and only irritating writer extraordinaire! She spots the perpetrator of the cover art crime walking towards her, a pastry and two (what?) coffees in hand.

"Morning!" he calls, energetic as always, "One grande two-pump sugar-free vanilla and a bear claw."

She gapes at him for a moment, "How did you know m-"

"I'm a novelist, it's my job to notice things," he interrupts.

Richard Castle knew her coffee order. Richard freaking Castle had bothered to learn her coffee order. Damn. That little fangirl inside couldn't help but spaz a bit over that and oh my god, Beckett, pull yourself together. You're not supposed to be flattered by him, idiot. Remember the whole naked-Nikki-Heat-on-the-cover? Remember? Irritated. You're irritated. Pulling all of the hopelessly fangirling parts of her back in, she responds with a normal cutting remark for the two of them. Yes, normal is good. Fangirling is not.

"It's Sunday morning, shouldn't you be slinking home from some scandalous liaison?" she says.

"Would you be jealous if I was?"

Yes, her fangirl said.

"In your dreams," her rationality says.

"Actually in my dreams you're never jealous. In my dreams you just-"

She stuffs the bear claw into his face before he can speak one more word of that statement.

They walk towards the crime scene and she takes a sip of the coffee he'd given her. Perfect balance of bitter and sweet, just the way she likes it. Repressing a sigh of contentment, she continues to listen to his endless prattling as they head up. And suddenly, it didn't quite bother her so much anymore.

—

She'd been staring at the murder board when he came in that morning.

When he came in with only one coffee.

Her face was probably betraying all of that disappointment and sadness that she doesn't really have any right to feel. It's just coffee. It's not like it was the end of the world that he didn't bring her coffee or something. She'd gotten her own coffee for much longer than he'd been getting her coffee after all. She's been spoiled; it was a treat for him to bring it right? It isn't like the balance of their partnership relies on that. It isn't like it's the symbol of their devotion to this setup-

Whoa there, Beckett.

She shakes off that fog of sadness that's not helping her current state of confusion regarding the Hamptons and Tom and everything and they bounce ideas off of each other, like always. Like everything's fine. Everything is fine though: him not getting coffee for her isn't the end of the world, calm down.

She gets up to look for something and Esposito hands her a cup of coffee, that knowing, sympathetic look on his face. And after that conversation last night? No. He's just being a good teammate Beckett. What is wrong with you today? She shakes off those emotions again, taking it with a small thanks. She takes a hesitant sip and sighs.

A little too bitter for her taste.

But coffee's just coffee.

Right?

—

And there, right on time, is Castle- two coffees in hand as usual. Great. She could really use it right now and-

Oh she is not.

She is!

Okay, that's just something you just don't do. One does not simply take her coffee. She doesn't care how famous you are, you do not simply take Kate Beckett's coffee in the morning.

…and is she seriously?

No. You don't take her coffee and then brief him too. No. Not allowed. Last straw right there.

"Can we talk for a second?" she says to her partner, voice tight.

"Sure," he says with a shrug. Possessively linking her arm through his, she drags him into one of the empty interview rooms. Petty. She's being so very petty right now. And she doesn't even care. You don't take her coffee.

"She took my coffee, Castle," she huffs.

"It's just coffee," he responds. But it isn't just coffee. It isn't.

"Then what's next? My soul?" she says before cracking and breaking out into a full rant, "Everything I do she does! Even when I'm thinking I can feel her in my head like some kind of a brain-eating parasite from one of her movies!"

"She's a dedicated actress she just wants to do a good job…" he starts gently.

Didn't he get it? Why did he not get it? Following her around like he does was one thing, taking her coffee, her life, her everything was a completely different ball game.

"Hey guys-" interrupts Ryan with some new news about the case, just on time to stop her from going all out on Castle as usual.

But seriously.

You do not simply take Kate Beckett's coffee.

—

There has to be something that made sense here. But even after hours of staring at the same, too-empty white board…there just isn't. It still doesn't make any sense.

He walks up beside her and she looks up at his approach, smiling at the coffee cup he holds out to her. The sharp edges of the white and brown, now that made sense. That she knows. And in this web of confusion, something she knows is a very welcome thing.

"Thank you," she says.

"Did you get any sleep?" he says. He knows the answer already, she can see it in his face.

And the answer he expects is what he'll get, as sad as that makes her, "Not much."

He gives her a small nod in acceptance before settling on the desk edge next to her, "Anything new on our victim?"

"We rechecked Orlando's rap sheet and Montgomery wasn't involved in any of his old arrests. That break-in wasn't personal," she says, reciting the facts she'd mulled over time and time again during her sleepless night.

"What about the call he made before he was killed?"

"It's from a burner phone. There's no registered owner," she says, defeated. It's just hundreds of hundreds of dead ends, all over this case. All over every single case related to the case and it's just like they were ramming blindly into a new wall every time they found anything and…

"Hey," he says, "You're not in this alone. I'm here."

She gives him a small smile. She knows that. She knows that now- they're in this together, partners. There's no denying that. Her secrets were all out, they'd been dealt with. They were in this together.

"I know," she says, taking one hand off of the coffee cup and taking his gently, thumb brushing over his knuckles. Their eyes come to meet each other knowingly, a silent conversation that'd begun with that silent good morning in the coffee cup. I've got your back.

"Hey-" interrupts Ryan.

Dammit, Ryan.

Their hands break apart like some startled flock of deer and the boys fill them in on the new information they found. But the warmth of his hand lingers in the warmth of the coffee, and she is content.

—

His ridiculously expensive espresso machine whirs to life, dark rich liquid pouring into the two white mugs she'd fetched. She closes her eyes, the hearty scent calming her mind which was whirring just about as much as the coffee machine was. She'd had quite the last 24 hours to say the least.

Let's see, a recap. Got mauled by the man who shot her (that would explain most of the throbbing, pervasive soreness all over her body), said man threw her off a roof, she almost fell off said roof, resigned from the only job- only life- she'd ever known, got completely drenched on a metal swingset in a thunderstorm (smart move there, Beckett), and had mindblowingly amazing sex with Castle (which would explain the rest of the soreness). And now here she was, clad in only one of his shirts, in his kitchen, making coffee like it was just another day in the breakroom. Except it wasn't. Because this is the loft.

…

Well then.

Definitely quite the 24 hours.

The machine comes to a stop and she goes through those familiar coffee-making motions with ease. Familiarity. That certainly feels good in this haze of confusion and unfamiliar and chaos. She picks up the coffee mugs, one in each hand. Now to go say good morning to the other familiar in this equation, the man who'd been 100% unconscious when she'd woken up this morning.

She meanders into his sundrenched bedroom, smiling at the man who looks like he's just woken up, his normally impeccable hair mussed by sleep and the definitely-not-sleep-related activities they'd done last night. He looks a bit confused until he spots her and smiles, a dark arousal sweeping his sleepy stare. She can't help but smile at his smile, irrepressible happiness welling up within her.

"I made you coffee," she says.

He takes the mug from her hand as she approaches the bed.

"So it wasn't a dream," he says.

"No, you're definitely not dreaming," she answers with a laugh, settling down next to him in his sinfully soft bed, gnawing at her lip.

"You were right," he says, voice gruff with sleep, "I had no idea."

What? Oh. Calling back to what she said four years ago. Nice memory, Castle.

"So you liked it?" she says hesitantly. Believe it or not, it had been concerning for her. Not kidding. Here was this guy who had slept with countless other girls and where was she in that? And some of the stuff they'd done last night could really not go well with some guys you know-

"Yeah," he says immediately.

"Even the part where…"

"Especially that part," he affirms, "I loved that."

She can't help the grin growing at that, "…me too."

"So… you're on board with this, right?" he says after a pause. Huh? "It's not some… oh I quit my job, I almost died, I'm in crisis thing."

What? No. No, no, no, Castle. So much no.

"No… not for me…" she says. It wasn't to her. It wasn't for him surely right…?

"Good, me neither," he responds, cutting off all of those doubts immediately and then destroying them all in one fell smile.

"Okay," she says with a smile, "Good."

"Good," he echoes.

"But I um… I did just quit my job… and I do have the day off…" she says, shameless at the suggestion. What? She did!

"Me… too," he says, staring down at where she hadn't buttoned his shirt up all the way and nudging it open.

"Really?"

"Yeah. So what would you… like to do today?" he responds, pushing the shirt off of her shoulder all the way, a distracting hand caressing her bared back.

"Um… I don't know," she teases, "We could read?"

"We could watch TV," he says, playing along.

"Yeah," she says, "We could get something to eat…"

"We could do that, yeah."

She gently kisses him in what was more smile than kiss, fire stirring within her at just that small touch.

The coffee lay forgotten on the table, but that was okay.

She had plenty of warmth right here.


End file.
